Saying Goodbye to a Two Year Old in an Airport

There’s something about a two year old boy running past four security guards, all the way to the end of the boarding gate at the airport in Chittagong, and then wrapping his hands tightly around your knees, and saying, “asho” repeatedly, in an attempt to tell you to stop leaving, to go back with him and continue playing with crayons and listening to “yummy yummy yummy” and dancing to the honey bunny song (“asho” in Bangla means “come”).

There’s something to be said about the way your throat constricts as you gently hand him over to his mother, your sister.

I don’t think goodbyes could have ever gotten harder for me. After 17 years of living a life that is filled with more goodbyes than I could have ever counted or cared for, I can’t remember a time that I felt so saddened to part ways with someone.

Yes, there’s something to be said about a two year old baby boy running after you in an airport and attempting to push you back to where he knows you should be- with him, loving him, every day.

I’m so grateful for my little miracle, and for his unfettered love for the world, for life, for knowledge and poetry and Old MacDonald and the words, “ooh la la,” and even as much, for the words “asho,” and for his love of togetherness.